Not without turning this into a bloodbath that would end with Vanya paying the price.
The realization cut deeper than any insult Seraphina had thrown.
So I leave without him.
The thought was a fresh blade driven straight through my abdomen, twisting slowly.
My legs carried me back to the Aston Martin on instinct alone. I slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, sealing myself inside the quiet cocoon of leather and glass.
My hands locked around the steering wheel.
And then I broke.
Tears spilled freely now—hot, silent, relentless—blurring the dashboard, streaking down my cheeks, soaking into my collarbone. My chest hitched as I tried—and failed—to breathe normally.
God.
This was not how I had imagined coming back to Lake Como.
Not like this.
Not married to a man who didn’t know the truth.
Not negotiating my son’s life with a sociopath in silk.
I shouldn’t have listened to Ruslan Baranov.
I should have stayed hidden. Stayed careful. Stayed in Greece where the sea was blue and Vanya slept safely beside me every night.
But the gates loomed in my rearview mirror now—tall, iron, impenetrable.
And my son was behind them.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, straightened my spine, and started the engine. The growl of it grounded me, reminded me I wasn’t helpless. Not yet.
As I pulled away and the Orlov estate disappeared behind the curve of the road, one thought burned brighter than the rest—white-hot and unwavering.
I will get Vanya back.
Even if it meant playing Seraphina’s game.
Even if it meant walking straight into Dmitri’s arms—and detonating the truth I’d buried for five years.
Even if everything burned.
Because a mother could survive losing a man.
But she would burn the world down for her child.
Chapter 9
PENELOPE
Iwas speeding toward Dmitri’s mansion, heart hammering.
Eighty.
Ninety.
